


Action!

by caffeinekitty



Category: Free!
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, M/M, Mostly Pwp, Pornstars, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:46:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffeinekitty/pseuds/caffeinekitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say desperate times call for desperate measures, but Tachibana Makoto never imagined they’d involve an audition for a porn studio. Neither did he expect the studio’s star actor – a guy Makoto’s been, well... admiring from the other side of a screen and a pixel mosaic -- to be his first co-star, or that the eccentric and enigmatic Haruka isn’t the only troublesome thing awaiting him at Free!Boys Studios…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Action!

_What am I doing here?_

It could have been any one of the bland, small-to-medium sized businesses that sprang up in this neighbourhood, nondescript offices behind facades that gave nothing away. They could’ve been temp agencies, IT companies, start-up design firms…

Makoto squirmed slightly on the worn, utilitarian couch, looking around the neat and surprisingly normal looking office.

Or a porn studio. That really would’ve been his next guess…

_It’s not too late; I can still go home, right? I really should go home…_

A small set of lockers was tucked behind the door, some of the doors labelled with names in a messy scrawl, some of them presumably unoccupied. Several of the doors had traces of at least a dozen old name-labels, and Makoto wondered briefly about the staff turnover of a place like this. It couldn’t exactly be a long-term career, could it…?

Not that he was looking for a long-term career. He was just looking for money, and fast, and preferably mostly-legal because he doubted he had the nerve or the savvy to do anything awfully shady. Porn-shady was about his limit. 

And honestly, that was a limit he never thought he’d cross in a million years.

He hadn’t really thought about it much. Truth be told, he still wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about the fact that a small, well-hidden folder on his laptop housed a small collection of illegally downloaded DVDs. Oh, not the illegally downloaded part, though that was bad enough -- _What if they find out? Will they fire me?! Will they have me arrested?!_ \-- but the fact that, unlike the stuff his university buddies extolled, his stash didn’t exactly feature a lot of Office Ladies with big boobs…

All he really knew was that he was sure the Office Ladies were really nice people, but they didn’t do all that much for him beyond that. 

Opportunities for experimentation didn’t come easy when you had classes and two part-time jobs to hold down, and especially when bringing anyone home meant introducing them to two boisterous, inquisitive young siblings with no sense of discretion or personal space boundaries. After making sure Ren and Ran were fed, bathed, entertained and prepared for the next day – along with making sure they hadn’t found out how far Makoto was behind on the rent, and the landlord’s increasingly aggressive demands for payment – clicking a few links on a computer screen was all he was up for lately.

And it was one of those nights, a few days ago, when he’d been pre-occupied enough by his worries that he’d actually let one of the films run all the way to the end. He’d never seen the recruitment ad before – _Free!Boys Studios: now hiring models for future filming projects_ – and for all he knew the movie was years old and the company was already defunct. No one would even answer, he’d thought, fingers shaking as he dialled the number on the ad. 

It answered on the fifth ring, to the sound of something clattering over and a distinctly feminine moan in the background before a rough male voice came on the line. 

“D’you know what time it is?”

Makoto hadn’t even considered that. It was a little past midnight – weren’t, well… industries like this known for keeping odd working hours? 

“I-I’m sorry,” he’d stammered before hurrying on. “I was, um… I saw your ad, and I thought, maybe…”

The guy on the other end of the line sighed. “You wanna audition, is that it?”

“Well, um…” His gaze scanned the room in nervous habit, settling eventually on the bank book stacked with the rest of the bills on the kitchen counter. He’d begged for every extra shift he could get, but no one else was hiring and if he wound up paying more out in babysitting fees while he was at work – or worse, having to leave his brother and sister by themselves for hours on end – then it’d be pointless anyway. Steeling himself, he nodded resolutely. “Yes, I do.” 

“You ever done anything like this before?” 

“Well, no, but—”

“How big are you?”

Makoto blinked. “Um… a hundred and eighty-three centimetres. Maybe around seventy kilos…?”

Silence. Then another sigh. 

“No, kid, I mean how _big_ are you.” 

“But I just—” Oh. Oh! _Oh, god…_ “I-I don’t know,” he mumbled, feeling himself blushing “I’ve never checked.” Who on earth would?! He knew it was almost an unspoken competition between guys, but no one actually whipped out the tape measure… did they? “Average, I guess…?”

Apparently ‘average’ was a bad answer. The guy on the line sounded pretty uninterested as he said, “Look, why don’t you go to our website and fill out an application form? If we think we can use you, we’ll be in touch.”

“Okay, but I—”

"See ya, kid."

The line went dead. 

He’d had job interviews before. None of those had been quite that disconcerting. The application form had been comfortingly normal after that, just a few basic questions, some medical information and a few checks to make sure he was legally an adult. He’d hesitated over the ‘please attach a recent photograph’ section – all he had on his phone were the wonky photos Ren and Ran took of him smiling like an idiot. Judging from the conversation, that wasn’t quite what they were looking for. 

Stamping down ruthlessly on his mortification – he’d have to if he was seriously thinking of going through with this – he’d snapped a couple of shirtless photos in the mirror, thinking that he was probably too tall, or that his shoulders were too broad, or that he was just too plain and ordinary for a job like this. He couldn’t say he’d seen _that_ many of Free!Boys’ movies, but all their actors looked really _pretty_ , and Makoto, well… 

His favourite video – not just by this studio, but his favourite, _period_ – wasn’t even one he enjoyed because of the action. It wasn’t especially graphic; it was one of the solo shoots where the actor played around a little before jerking himself off for the camera. And it was probably a little bit pathetic to admit, but sometimes he didn't even watch it to get off; he just liked watching this particular actor. The guy was around his own age, Makoto guessed, with glossy black hair and a body that looked more naturally toned than some of the gym-sculpted abs sported by other models. Everything looked defined, from pale shoulders down to long, lithe thighs. 

And he was beautiful, no doubt about that, in a mysterious and ethereal sort of way, but every time he watched it, Makoto found himself caught up in the actor’s eyes instead. 

It could’ve been the camera, he reasoned, or the lights, or even contacts. But he liked to imagine they really were that deep a shade of blue, unfathomable and unreadable. They pierced the screen like lasers, almost uncomfortably intimate if Makoto had been able to tear his gaze away. More than once he’d been caught up in the fantasy of it that he’d completely forgotten that this guy really _wasn’t_ looking directly at him, wasn’t making those sounds for him, wasn’t touching himself purely for Makoto’s benefit. The guy wasn’t really looking at anything other than a camera lens. He wasn’t really lost in his own pleasure to the point where every involuntary gasp and sigh made Makoto’s body ache. It was just a job, as bewitching and sensual as the performance might have been. 

Compared to someone like that, Makoto thought he probably had the charisma of instant noodles. Minus the flavoring sachet. 

He’d sent off the application anyway, walking around in abject terror for the next couple of days, half-convinced he’d just sent his intimate details to one of those embarrassing prank TV shows instead. 

Would they take Ren and Ran away from him for something like this? It really couldn’t be an acceptable thing for a legal guardian to be doing, trying to get work in porn. Well, not _work_ , just make next month’s rent and vow never to ever do anything like that again, but still…

Yesterday afternoon, the guy from the other night called back. 

“Yo, kid, wanna stop by the office tomorrow for a meeting?”

In the cold light of day, he should have said no. He should have declined politely and then gone off to find somewhere he could sell a kidney on the black market. Who was he kidding? There was no way he could do something like this, even if the office looked like it could’ve been a dentist’s waiting room and Makoto’s horrifying visions of whips and chains and baskets full of sex toys apparently said more about him than it did about the business. 

He'd still been warring internally when the office door swung open. 

“Heh, you actually turned up. You’d be surprised how many guys chicken out.” He wasn’t sure what he’d expected from the studio employees either, but at least matching up the voice on the phone to the older man standing before him wasn’t that much of a stretch. Bleached blond hair, artfully shaved with what looked like a star cut into one side; a mismatching goatee; jewellery; a Hawaiian shirt paired with plaid pants, and a warm, friendly smile that actually made Makoto feel a little guilty about imagining the whole whips and chains thing. Enthusiastically presenting his business card, this guy looked more pizza delivery guy than perverted porn king. "Sasabe Goro, principal director. Good to meet you." 

“I-I’m Makoto.” Taking the card, he bowed stiffly. "Pleased to meet you, Sasabe-san."

“Oh, so they told you about that already? Good, good. Some of the guys pick really dumb names, but 'Makoto' sounds okay.”

Makoto looked up. “Told me about it?” 

“The ‘boys with girly names’ thing," Director Sasabe said. "Ah, it’s pretty corny, but the customers seem to like it.” 

“Or it makes them feel better that can kid themselves they’re not getting off to actual guys.” The door opened again unceremoniously, and a redhead stomped into the room, muttering under his breath and paying them very little regard as he turned towards the row of lockers. “Losers…” 

“Hey, didn’t anyone tell you I’m interviewing today?”

“No.” Sounding as though it wouldn't have stopped him anyway, the redhead turned away from the locker and stared Makoto down with a curiosity that verged on divine judgement. “Fresh meat?”

It was a pretty apt analogy, Makoto thought; he certainly felt like he was being sized up as prey by that look. 

_Yeah, I really should just go home…_

“Yep, if he’s any good,” Sasabe said. “Goes by ‘Makoto’. Haven’t had one of those in a while.”

“Is that right…?”

The redhead stalked towards him, gaze scanning him from head to toe, and Makoto pasted on his most non-threatening smile. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Ma—ah!” 

He nearly jumped out of his skin and shrieked when the redhead thumped a fist against the back of the couch, leaning into his space with a narrow-eyed, assessing glare. He didn’t think he’d been here long enough to do anything _that_ hideously wrong, but a sudden and irrational guilt made the nape of his neck prickle with sweat. 

“I give him a week,” the redhead said, close enough that Makoto could make out sharp-looking teeth past the mutter. “Tops.”

“Oi, oi. He won’t last the hour if you keep scaring him, Rin.” 

“Che…”

The redhead -- or Rin, then, even though this guy didn’t look like he’d make a novice mistake and use his real name, unlike _some_ people… – shoved away from the couch, and Makoto started to breathe again.

“Ignore him,” Sasabe said. “As long as you can last a couple of hours, you’ll be fine.”

Makoto really hoped that hadn’t been intended as reassurance. “A couple of hours?”

And he thought he’d been doing well enough lasting as long as the videos…

“Sometimes longer, depends on how many minutes of footage we need for a scene. Some people—” Sasabe put enough emphasis on the words that Makoto swore he could see Rin’s hackles rising, even though the redhead had turned back to his locker and was rooting around in it viciously “—can take half the day. Lessee…” The director flicked through some paperwork that looked scarily normal. It could have been the shift rota for a fast food restaurant, which was precisely the sort of normal, non-terrifying job Makoto should’ve been looking for. “What’re you doing this afternoon? We could try you out in the Swim Club scene for the ‘Extracurricular Activities’ series we’re putting out.”

“Swim Club?” Makoto perked up. But before he could say anything else, the slam of a locker door ricocheted in a metallic clatter through the room. 

“Oi, that’s supposed to be my scene!”

“You’ve got the Lost Tourist outdoor scenes today.” Director Sasabe shook his head, looking unmoved at Rin’s objection. “Call it a test shoot to see if we can use him. We can cut the Swim Club scene down to one handheld and one static camera, so there’ll be fewer people on set in case Newbie over here gets nervous.” 

He sent Makoto a grin, but all he could manage in return was a slightly wan smile. 

Gets _nervous? No, I’m pretty sure I’ve been here a while. Actually, I’m thinking about taking a trip over to freaked out, any second now._

“And if anything messes up, it’ll be less hassle to redo. You know the outdoor shoots are harder to reschedule.” 

Rin continued to scowl, but the seething turned a little more subdued. Arms folded across his chest, he raised his chin. “You ever done something like this before?”

Trapped somewhere between catatonic and hyper-alert, it took Makoto a second to realise he was the ‘you’. “Me?”

“No, the fricking couch.” There was a moment of strained silence, and Makoto realized with some dismay that the couch probably _had_ done something like that before. “Yes, you, dumbass.” 

“Well, no, but…”

“And you’re gonna put a guy like this with someone _else_ who doesn’t know what they’re doing?” Makoto was mostly sure he wasn’t ‘you’ this time. Rin directing his glare at Sasabe was a clue. So was the way the redhead jabbed an annoyed finger at his face as he said, “Look at him! He’s hopeless!”

Makoto stiffened. Okay, so he was about three kilometres out of his depth and should probably make his apologies and leave before he made an even bigger fool out of himself, but still… hopeless was kind of harsh. He couldn’t _afford_ to be hopeless – he had too much to lose if he was.

“I know I’ve probably got a lot to learn,” he said, forcing himself to look up from his own wringing hands to Rin’s sceptical frown, “but I’m willing to work hard so I don’t let anyone down.”

Rin made a strangled sound, wheeling back around to face director Sasabe. 

“S-see what I mean?! You don’t have anyone else who can put up with that!”

“Hey, hey, we’ve got some good guys on the books,” Sasabe said. Rin scoffed.

“No we don’t. And how the hell would you know anyway, you straight geezer with a swimsuit fetish?”

“I told you, I had those magazines by accident!”

“Che, sure you did. _Marin-chan._ ”

Sasabe cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the scheduling sheets as though they were the most important thing in the universe. “Drop it. You’re too busy for this today. Anyway, you know you’re no good with the new guys, and you know we’re short staffed; if this guy works out, I’d kinda like him to come back.”

“Since when the hell don’t they come back?”

“There was that guy last month who said you bit him.”

“He was a wuss.”

“He was _crying_.” 

Awareness filtered in belatedly, past the fairly certain conviction that that Rin possibly wanted to murder him in his sleep, but when it did…

_W-wait, I… Me? With him? But that’s… wait, what?_

Fortunately, it seemed the discussion about his first co-star seemed to have moved on without him, though the vaguely disgusted look Rin sent him made Makoto wonder whether he’d been whimpering out loud. He was also fairly sure he was blushing; he swore he could see his cheeks glowing in his peripheral vision. 

It was one thing to imagine this sort of job as a vague concept. When the guy he might be getting paid to sleep with was standing five feet away, glaring daggers at him…

_He’d eat me alive…!_

“Nagisa’s already working, and Ai’s off this week. Guess we could put you with Miko, but you’d probably want to be broken in a little easier than that…” Director Sasabe paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Actually… if it’s you, we could probably get Haruka to do it.” 

Makoto looked up. “Haruka?”

“One of our best guys. Anything he does is guaranteed to sell, so you don’t need to worry too much about—”

It wasn’t the locker door slamming this time, but the duller thud of the edge of Rin’s clenched fist connecting with the doorframe. 

“Okay, first you kick me off my scene, and now you’re giving it to that bastard? Fuck that.”

“Oi, Rin—”

“And fuck your goddamn location shoot, I’m going home.” 

Makoto shrank back as Rin shot him a look, yanking the office door open. It wasn’t as angry as he might have guessed, though; most of it looked like ‘I pity you, idiot’ and the rest was a raw jumble of things Makoto couldn’t begin to name. 

“…Is everything okay?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sasabe said, already on his cell phone even as Makoto turned to watch the figure stalking down the hallway as the door swung mutedly shut. “He won’t actually go home. He takes his job seriously too. Besides, they’re always like that. The two of them’re just—ah, Haruka! You busy this afternoon? …Uh-huh… uh-huh… well, yeah, nutrition is always important, but isn’t that a lot of mackerel for just—? Yeah I guess so.” A muscle began twitching in Sasabe’s jaw, his smile a little pained. “Anyway, listen, a job’s come up if you’re interested. No, it’s a new guy, I was gonna do a test shoot with the—yeah, I know. I _know_ you don’t. You tell me every single time, I’m not gonna forget. But hey, you might change your mind. This guy’s—” Sasabe treated him to another of those assessing once-overs, and even though it was more clinically professional than Rin’s, Makoto wanted to curl up on himself anyway “—interesting.” 

_Interesting? What did ‘interesting’ mean? Wasn’t that what people called things when they couldn’t think of anything nice but wanted to sound polite anyway?_

Sasabe winked at him, pointed at the phone and gave a thumbs up. Apparently, at least the mystery Haruka had found ‘interesting’ well… _interesting_. “’kay. Yeah, the main office. Probably a half hour or so, that’ll give me time to give Newbie the crash course. See ya.”

Wilting a little under the glare of the director’s satisfied grin, Makoto realized that he’d just let his last chance to back out slip away. He’d be wasting everyone’s time now if he chickened out. He’d already managed to piss Rin off, and if Haruka was as big a deal as the director made it seem then dragging him all the way here for nothing would be highly inconsiderate. 

…Not that it’d matter if he just fled home, locked all his doors and hid behind his couch and vowed never to look at porn ever again. 

“C’mon,” Sasabe stood, “lemme show you around and get you ready for the shoot.”

Surprised that he could follow suit without swaying on wobbly knees, Makoto laughed nervously. “That’s it? I don’t have to, uh… measure, or anything?”

“You thought I was gonna tell you to get yourself off in the middle of the office and time how long you last or something?” Sasabe laughed out loud, slapping Makoto heartily on the shoulder as he herded him out of the door. “Kid, that sort of thing only happens in pornos!”

* * * * *

It turned out that a lot of things only happened in pornos. There were no naked people wandering the hallways, no lewd moans and groans coming from behind locked doors. If not for the one guy who’d walked past them carrying a stack of DVDs, Makoto could have happily deluded himself into thinking he really was at that IT start-up instead. And it was clear he hadn’t thought this through properly when half of Sasabe’s ‘crash course’ involved advice on how to get representation.

“Most of the guys use the same agency,” the director had said, handing him a business card. “Even if you don’t plan on sticking with it long, it still makes things easier.” 

“Ah, I don’t know if that’s necessary, really.”

“Well, keep it in mind. A lot of the guys are already in the business – hosts, escorts, that kind of thing – so they have the connections. But there are a few regular guys who just want to earn some extra cash on the side.”

Makoto ducked his head sheepishly. He’d known it was pretty obviously, but, well… not _that_ obvious. 

“Ah, don’t worry about it. At least you don’t look like the sort of kid who needs the money for anything shifty. I mean, we try our best not to encourage things like that, but… sometimes people slip through the cracks, you know?”

“I guess so…”

The last stop was a tiny broom cupboard of a room that had been designated as a makeshift dressing room. A rail along one wall contained a bewildering range of outfits. Makoto could make out several sports kits, some school uniforms – gakuran and the blazer-and-tie combo he was used to in high school – overalls, delivery company uniforms… 

…and the small assortment of swimsuits someone must have left out ready in preparation for the shoot. Makoto tried his best to ignore the several pairs of brightly coloured speedos – one was neon yellow with a penguin on the back; where did they even _find_ something like that?! -- and honed in on the slightly more modest jammers and legskins he was used to from his club days. 

Sidetracked by that thought, he jumped a little when Sasabe turned to address someone other than him.

“Didn’t I say half an hour?”

“Yeah.” A soft monotone came from the vicinity of the door. “Sorry.”

“As long as you’re here now so we can get started. Ah, Makoto, this is—”

Makoto knew who this was. He’d had the guy standing before him, impassive and at the same time oddly expectant, memorized for a while now. He knew almost every inch of that toned, wiry body by sight. He just hadn’t known his _name._

“Haruka…”

Deep blue eyes peered out at him from beneath a glossy fall of black hair. “Do I know you?”

“Ah, well, no but…”

“Oh, you’re a fan?” Sasabe chuckled, elbowing Makoto lightly in the back. “Guess it’s your lucky day then.”

“No, I’m… well, it’s not that I’m _not_ , I just…” Flustered, Makoto took a breath, feeling his brows draw down in a frown at the way Haruka was looking at him. “I’m sorry. That sort of thing must bother you, and I…”

“Not really.” Haruka shrugged, glancing to one side. “It happens.” 

Maybe it did. Maybe Haruka just wore that kind of expression because someone like Makoto had no business assuming, and even less business asking at all. He’d been here all of half an hour, after all, and almost everything he’d learned in that time was that everything he’d imagined was probably wrong. 

He still wished he’d kept his mouth shut; he had the distinct feeling that the look in Haruka’s eyes now was a million times more real than the way he looked on camera, and he wasn’t being invited to drown this time, he was being unabashedly frozen out. 

"Okay, I need to go and get everyone set up," Director Sasabe said, clapping Makoto on the back again before strolling out of the room. "Do your best, Mako-chan!"

"M-Mako-chan?"

Haruka ignored both of them, wordlessly stashing his things in one of the cubbyholes at the other end of the room. Only one other was in use, Makoto noticed, filled so messily that half its contents seemed on the verge of falling out. To his surprise, Haruka shook his head slightly, shoving one dangling jacket sleeve back into the cubbyhole more securely before turning back to his own, unceremoniously tugging off his t-shirt.

“They told you about the name thing, then?”

“Ah, yeah… kind of.” 

He didn’t think Haruka would be very pleased if he admitted Makoto was his real name, so he kept quiet. It was just another check mark in the column of ‘Reasons I Shouldn’t Be Doing This’ when he could barely glance at that pale, bare back without feeling himself blushing, so he tried imagining what Haruka’s real name might be instead. 

_Haruka suits him, though…_

Tentatively, he laid claim to one of the cubbies at an acceptable distance away from Haruka’s, and even more hesitantly began to undress. He didn’t even know if he was supposed to make conversation, but it didn’t seem as though Haruka was _that_ averse to it, and nerves had the words spilling anyway. “This brings back memories. The swim club part, I mean! Not the uh… yeah.” 

Haruka glanced at him, and Makoto had no idea what he’d said that was even close to right, but there was a mild curiosity melting the ambivalence in those blue eyes. At least he thought so; he didn’t dare meet Haruka’s gaze for longer than a few seconds at a time. “It does?”

“Mm. I used to be in the swim club in high school.” 

Picking up a pair of black and blue jammers, something almost wistful creased Haruka’s brow for a second. “Me too.” 

“Really? Ah, small world, huh? We might’ve been in some tournaments together and didn’t even know it.”

“Yeah, maybe.” 

Makoto let himself wonder for all of three seconds what might’ve happened if he’d met Haruka under more… wholesome circumstances. Or at least anywhere other than here. 

_Nothing. You’d have been too scared to say a word to him._

He turned away while Haruka got changed, everything he’d grown accustomed to when it came to changing with other guys in locker rooms flying completely out of the window. He couldn’t tell for certain whether it was because of the situation, or because of Haruka’s presence, but he swore the quiet shush and rustle of someone else undressing behind him hadn’t ever sounded like _that_. Hadn’t ever come with the sort of urgency that had his heart hammering in his throat before he even did anything. 

It was weird though, the comfortable sense of familiarity that came from tugging on the legskins. He hadn’t been swimming at all in a while, even though he tried to go as often as possible – lately, trips to the pool involved Ren and Ran and spending most of the time in the shallow end blowing up armbands – and hadn’t competed in a few years, but the rush of adrenaline came back with the memory. They were about a size and a half too small though, and after the third or fourth attempt at pulling the waistband a little higher on his hips, he heard Haruka sigh.

“They’re supposed to be that way.”

“What, too small?” Makoto frowned, half-twisting to crane over his shoulder because it felt as though the swimsuit barely covered his ass. “Why would…?”

He trailed off when he caught sight of Haruka. Admittedly he had less fabric to contend with anyway, but the ‘why’ was abundantly clear in the way the material stretched and clung to his body. It outlined his thighs, dipping low enough in front that narrow hipbones tapered down to the faintest hint of a shadow. 

And Makoto knew that swimsuits didn’t always leave much to the imagination at the best of times, but the way the material hugged Haruka may as well have been a detailed bullet-point list, complete with diagrams and footnotes. 

It was a little surreal to remember that he’d seen Haruka wearing nothing more than a flimsy excuse for a pixel mosaic; the outline of his cock through thin black fabric shouldn’t have made Makoto breathless. 

Just as well he hadn't gone with the speedo. He could already feel himself twitching against the constricting confines of the suit; he had to tear his gaze away from Haruka with a quiet whimper before it wouldn’t hold him _at all_. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Haruka said matter-of-factly, either mistaking Makoto’s stupor for unease or just ignoring it altogether. “You won’t have to be in it long, anyway.” 

"H-Haru!" He barely even realized what he’d said – or the presumption he’d made – until Haruka looked back at him, brow arched. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

Haruka sighed, looking away. “Just don’t call me that on set. Let’s go; we’re making everyone wait.”

"W-wait, I—" He couldn’t go out there like this! Alone with the object of his fantasies was one thing, but the thought of walking out in front of a group of strangers, terrified that his cock would poke its way out of the swimsuit waistband any moment… Without thinking, he’d dropped his hands to cover himself up, feeling the blush heat his skin. “Just a second, it’s…”

"So?" 

"But—"

"It's the whole point, right? It’s annoying when guys take forever to get hard.” Even as he said it, Makoto couldn’t picture anyone facing that problem around Haruka… “Besides, the swimsuit's tight, it'll help…" Haruka trailed off, his gaze hovering somewhere around Makoto's midriff. Or maybe lower. 

"Haru…?"

"Nothing." Haruka turned to look away, but not before Makoto thought he saw something sparkling in those blue eyes. He must've been mistaken though, because there was no change in the other boy's voice. "Just realized why Goro was so enthusiastic about you, that's all." 

Makoto swallowed hard. “That’s—”

"Let's go." 

Not given much choice in the matter, Makoto tried his best not to stagger as he followed Haruka out of the room and down the hallway, still awkwardly trying to half-cover himself. One of the doors they passed by had a red light glaring above the top of the frame. 

“Filming,” Haruka said when Makoto glanced at it. “Any room that has that light on, don’t go wandering in.”

Trying his best not to imagine, Makoto hurried to keep up with Haruka. “Is, uh… everything filmed here? Sasabe-san was talking about outdoor shoots earlier.”

“We do some of the continuity shots outside,” Haruka said, sounding as though that much of an explanation was a mighty effort. “Sometimes we use hotels, or borrow apartments. Depends on the scene.”

Was ‘Lost Tourist’ the sort of thing they filmed at hotels, Makoto wondered? If Rin really had pulled out of the scene because of him, it’d be pretty expensive to rearrange, wouldn’t it? 

“About damn time!” Sasabe grinned up at them from some last minute fussing with a small video camera when they walked into the room. “I thought you two’d gotten started without us.” 

“N-no, that’s…!” Makoto turned to look apologetically at Haruka, only to realize the other boy was already picking his way over the cables on the floor and onto the set. 

Makoto thought his heart was about the shatter his ribcage, and Haruka looked about as perturbed as he would be if he was going to the conbini for some milk.

_I want to go home…_

The scenario was pretty simple: team-mates from a swim team having a little fun after-hours in the locker room. Studio B was less a studio and more a converted office; one half of the room had been decked out with lockers and random sports paraphernalia, along with a narrow bench and a stack of about a half dozen exercise mats. The ‘script’ only called for a bit of stilted dialogue and – much to Makoto’s embarrassment – a list of positions and poses they were encouraged to assume during the scene. 

“It’s fine if you switch things around and improvise,” Sasabe had told him in the Introduction to AV 101 class he’d been given while they waited for Haruka, “just remember that we’re always going for the stuff that looks good on camera. Don’t get in the way. Watch where you’re putting your hands, that’s important – it’s no good if we can’t get a good shot of your cock.”

“Y-yeah,” Makoto had felt his eyebrow twitch, “I got it…”

"If you're getting too close, then either slow it down or tell us you need a break. Even if you do reload fast, it's a pain if you both get too far out of synch. Haru goes at his own pace already, I don't need you doing that too." 

"A-ah..."

“And just pretend we’re not there, okay? We’re going for a fly-on-the-wall shot, and that’ll ruin the whole scene. If we need you to stop or change it up, we’ll give you a signal. Otherwise just act like the camera isn’t there.”

That hadn’t sounded especially feasible _then_ , but the reality of what he’d stupidly stumbled into kicked him in the face when it finally sank in that he was expected to have sex with Haruka in front of a room full of people. 

_That’s impossible…_

Inexplicable terror meant that he’d gone soft. It was bad enough, he thought, those handful of times when a sleepy Ren or Ran had interrupted him in the middle of the night, but at least they hadn’t _watched_ him. The very thought of it had been enough to beat down his libido for days afterwards. 

No one else seemed terrified. That should’ve been reassuring, but if just one person turned around and told him he didn’t belong here, then he’d have a reason to escape. 

It wasn’t even that he’d ever had any particularly romantic notions about sex, no lofty ideals that it was supposed to be special or sacred or private. It might have embarrassed him senseless, but he was no one to judge someone else. As low a priority as it was in his daily life – occasional trysts with the laptop notwithstanding – it might as well have been something other people did. He’d been fine just going with the flow, letting the ever-changing tide of other people’s needs dictate where he went. 

He’d never imagined it’d take him here of all places, or that it would be so difficult to fight the current.

If it hadn’t been Haruka, maybe…

_No! Whether it’s him or not, this is crazy! I can’t get hard, I can’t touch someone in front of all these people, I can’t f—!_

“Okay! Don’t get too hung up on things this time, Newbie. If we get some footage we can use, great, but otherwise we’re just taking a look, seeing if we can use you.” Director Sasabe hefted up the camera. “Whenever you’re ready.” 

_Never. Never’d be good…_

On autopilot, he went to stand awkwardly next to Haruka, his mind a blank. All of a sudden he had no idea what to do with his hands. Or the rest of him, come to think of it. There were those badly written lines they were supposed to improvise with, and that list of positions and Makoto was starting to confuse the two. Like a deer in headlights he couldn’t stop staring at the camera, and had it _always_ been this hard to breathe or—?

"Makoto. Help me stretch." 

Without waiting for an answer, Haruka dropped onto the exercise mat, beginning a routine that made Makoto think again of that wistful look. 

He knew this. It dragged him back into familiar territory, even if the circumstances were utterly alien. He knew the order of stretches, from shoulders to triceps to lower back to hamstrings. He knew the pleasant, slackening burn that would be warming Haruka's muscles as he flexed his back slightly, legs spread in a 'v' in front of him as he reached out towards his toes. 

_Did he guess I'd be comfortable with this?_

“Okay…”

It wasn't a huge leap after all his rambling about he swim club, but the thought made him feel better anyway. Kneeling behind Haruka, he hesitated for a moment before pressing his hands clumsily against the pale expanse of that supple back. 

He didn't know this, though. He didn't know how soft and smooth and warm Haruka's skin would be under his hands. He didn’t know he’d automatically slide his hand slowly to Haruka’s shoulders, thumbs tracing the protrusions of the other boy’s spine, leaning in with a little of his weight to mimic stretching exercises he’d done a hundred times over. 

Not like _this_ , but still…

In the silence it was impossible to tune out the rest of the room; the quiet whirrs of the camera lens zooming in and out; the occasional creak of the sound boom as the guy holding it – a serious looking guy with severe glasses and a neatly pressed button-down shirt – adjusted its weight from one hand to the other. Makoto panicked a little that he was taking too long and this guy would end up annoyed with him too, and leaned a little too enthusiastically onto Haruka. 

"Oi, watch it." 

"S-sorry!" In his panic, the lines he'd been supposed to use dissolved in his memory. It probably wouldn't matter now since he'd already messed up a dozen times over and veered them onto a completely different path, but he scrambled around for something, anything, to make up for it. "I was just nervous. About the prefectural tournament. That's coming up… next week." 

Makoto winced; that sounded terrible. Haruka, however, stilled slightly beneath his hands. 

"It'll be okay," he said. "We've been training hard, after all." 

"Ah, that's true,” Makoto felt himself smile, years of memories coming back with just that simple phrase. “All we can do now is try our best, right?” 

“Mm.” 

“What are you going to sign up for, Haruka?” he asked, genuinely curious as to what his speciality might have been. “I was thinking of breaststroke, maybe backstroke…”

“Free,” Haruka said immediately. Makoto smiled.

“That suits you.”

Sitting up abruptly, Haruka half turned to stare back at him. 

“Haru…ka?”

“Your turn.”

“M-my…?”

“You’ll need to work your lower back. Lie down.”

He didn’t have Haruka’s instinctive sort of grace, so it took a few lumbering moments to reposition himself on the mat. His head hung half over the edge, and the fraying seam was digging into the back of his neck, but all Makoto could focus on was the way Haruka gripped his ankle, pressed a hand to his knee, and bent his leg up. 

The too-small swimsuit pulled tight across Makoto’s body as Haruka leaned into him, pushing his knee towards his chest with just the right amount of pressure. He couldn’t help the groan, too-loud as it was in the edgy silence, some forgotten muscle memory telling him that this action was meant to feel good. He might even have enjoyed it if his muscles weren’t seized up with tension; from the corner of his eye he watched the director crouch down for a better camera angle and any feeble illusion that they were alone in a real locker room crumbled. 

Haruka repeated the action with the other leg, this time putting Makoto’s groin on perfectly framed display for the questing camera. 

“W-wait—” He’d have sat up if his centre of gravity wasn’t so off kilter, and if Haruka wasn’t more deceptively powerful than that lithe frame suggested. Through fragmented common sense, he wondered whether Haruka still swam. 

His throat went dry when Haruka shook his head faintly and mouthed ‘Stop staring,’ because the only way they could get away with that would be if the camera wasn’t on their faces anymore. Had it _ever_ been? In his mind’s eye he pictured his hands on Haruka’s back, and half wished he’d leaned in to kiss that pale skin when he’d had the chance.

He breathed a little easier when the camera pulled back slightly. It was a little easier to cling to the dregs of blissful ignorance when he wasn’t completely sure where that lens was aiming. Haruka released his knee, but somehow managed to wedge himself between Makoto’s legs before he had the chance to close them and cover himself up. 

If he wasn’t so terrified by what he might see, he’d have glanced down to make sure he was still wearing the suit. He already felt so bared, he might as well be naked. 

Still leaning over him, Haruka tilted his head contemplatively. Not knowing what was going on anymore, Makoto offered him a weak, shy smile. 

That was when Haruka kissed him. 

“Mm…”

Makoto didn’t know what he’d expected; kisses were kisses, even if they were supposed to be part performance-art, but somehow…

_Why is he this sweet…?_

Haruka wasn’t kissing him as though it was part of the job. Haruka was _kissing_ him, soft warm nuzzles that alternated attention between Makoto’s upper and lower lips, sucking lightly. Even that sounded lewdly resounding in the quiet, a wet smack of skin on skin that was only punctuated by the Haruka’s muted moans and Makoto’s helplessly instinctive replies. 

And it wasn’t as though this was his first kiss, but there was something a little bittersweet curling up at the back of his mind to pretend that it could’ve been, or that this was how Haruka kissed everyone he worked with. Nothing about this had a single thing to do with Makoto in particular. He was just nervous, and latching onto Haruka’s cool, collected calm as a safe harbor. It was kind of like being on an airplane and judging how bad the turbulence really was by the reaction of the cabin crew; if they didn’t look worried, neither were you. It might be a lie, it might’ve just been their job too, but it was still a comfort. 

It didn’t make a lot of sense, but if Haruka was okay, then so was Makoto.

He knew all that. It didn’t stop him reaching up haltingly, fingers curving against the nape of Haruka’s neck just to deepen the kiss. The brush of Haruka’s tongue against his own sent a jolt down Makoto’s spine, too overwhelming to keep still. He held on tighter, daring to slide a hand down Haruka’s side, letting it settle undemandingly at his narrow waist

Haruka drew back slightly, but kept the tip of his tongue flicking against Makoto’s in an open-mouthed kiss, and it took a second to realize why.

_‘We’re always going for the stuff that looks good on camera.’_

It was a strange way to kiss, if it could even be called kissing at all. He could hear the sound of their breaths, Haruka’s soft moans, and the wet, electric graze of their tongues… and in peripheral vision he saw the fuzzy outline of the boom edging closer to hear the same thing. 

_I can’t do this--_

Haruka kissed him – properly – again before he could think about it, one hand sliding down Makoto’s chest. He shivered as one thin index finger flicked across his nipple, circling delicately before squeezing hard. Haruka swallowed his gasp, flexed with him as Makoto jerked against the touch, sucking hard enough at his tongue to make him dizzy, made it hard to take a breath, the slender body in his arms feeling as though it was pinning him down like a deadweight. 

For a second, the panic took on a different edge, but Haruka let him go before Makoto could define it. Either way, Haruka looked nonplussed, and Makoto decided he should try to be too. 

He sat up when he felt Haruka encourage him to, fingers digging into Makoto’s biceps and tugging subtly. Once he was upright though, Haruka let go and kept going, until he was sitting on the mat, legs loosely spread, hands braced behind him. Then, in a gesture that was a little too exaggerated to be natural, he shifted his hips forward a fraction, the outline of his cock pressing against the taut material of the swimsuit. 

Makoto swallowed. 

_If he does that again…_

Haruka did it again. The waistband rolled down half an inch, revealing the rounded tip of his cock peeking from beneath the fabric. He didn’t say a word, and Makoto thought the whole room had probably stopped and held its breath at the sight, but then Haruka tilted his head slightly, with ‘is staring at it all you’re going to do’ in his eyes.

Makoto wasn’t sure; he’d mostly just forgotten whether his real name was even ‘Makoto’. 

When he looked up, it was _that_ Haruka again, as beautiful and enigmatic and unselfconscious as he’d ever been on a screen. And it didn’t matter if the only way Makoto would ever be permitted to touch him was through this ritual humiliation he’d willingly signed up for; that he got to do it at all was enough.

He was too tall to crouch and make it look in any way attractive, so instead he stretched out between Haruka’s spread legs, hands stroking along his inner thighs. Haruka shivered every time Makoto’s fingers brushed the point where the edge of the jammers met his skin, so he did it again, and again, until Haruka’s hips were arching towards him in imperceptible increments. 

“More,” he breathed, barely loud enough for Makoto to hear let alone the ever-hovering mic. It was almost petulant in how demanding it was. “Makoto, touch more.”

Suspecting he’d have agreed to just about anything Haruka asked of him, Makoto nodded. 

“Y-yeah…”

Squeezing his eyes shut he reached out blindly, missing Haruka’s cock by a good three inches and poking him in the stomach instead. He thought he heard the ghost of a laugh, but when he dared open his eyes and look up, those blue eyes were as stoic as ever. 

“Need glasses?”

“Uh, well, sometimes. For, you know… video games and things.” 

Haruka blinked, then looked away and mumbled, “Then I feel bad for your controller.”

This time Makoto kept looking, even though he couldn’t quite believe he was watching his own hands reaching out, fingers squeezing tentatively around Haruka’s – mostly – cloth-covered cock. He almost flinched and drew back when Haruka moaned softly. It was an obvious over-reaction to Makoto’s fumbling, but it still made his heart hammer in his chest. 

“F-feels good?” 

“Mm…”

He had no idea if that was true, but he wanted it to be. Swallowing hard, he squeezed a little tighter, dragging the smooth fabric back and forth along Haruka’s length in short strokes. More of his cock emerged from the suit every time he did it, the tip a dark pink in contrast with the black of the jammers and the paleness of Haruka’s skin. 

Blushing hard enough that he thought he’d burn Haruka’s swimsuit off first, and convinced he could hear the camera zooming in, Makoto lowered his head and gave the head of Haruka’s erection a shy lick. 

“Ah!”

Apparently he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t expected that; Haruka jerked involuntarily against his hand, nothing rehearsed about his gasp. Strangely encouraged by that, Makoto did his best to shove every errant thought out of his head as he did it again, tracing the tip of his tongue around the smooth, hot crown. 

The videos couldn’t ever capture the heat of Haruka’s skin, or the warm, sweet scent of him. There was no way it could translate the sparks of static that chased down Makoto’s back when Haruka’s hands carded into his hair, urging him closer, urging him on.

Slowly, with shaky hands, Makoto hooked his fingers in the waistband of Haruka’s jammers and eased the clingy fabric down. The other boy's cock bobbed free from the material, already erect and flushed dark, curving up towards his firm stomach. 

Thinking he should probably say something, Makoto scrambled around what was left of his mind. He managed to mumble, "Haruka's beautiful…" just before wishing the ground would open up and swallow him. 

Haruka's chest rose and fell sharply in a quiet huff of amusement, but he didn't say anything.

With faltering fingers, he stroked Haruka lightly, feeling the velvety skin shift over the hard shaft. Certain he hadn't done anything to elicit that much of a reaction that fast, Makoto glanced up, but those blue eyes had fluttered shut. A tiny little crease of concentration furrowed Haruka's brow as Makoto continued to stroke, lips pressed in a tight line. 

It might've been a stupidly embarrassing thing to say, calling another guy beautiful, but Haruka really _was_ , so Makoto figured that was okay. 

His heart thumped as Haruka spread his legs wider for him, letting Makoto's shoulders settle more comfortably between them. If he'd been more confident he might have slid his hands underneath the other boy to draw him closer, but he settled for resting his free hand on Haruka's thigh, still stroking with the other even as he leaned in to kiss just beneath the flared head. He sucked a little when Haruka shivered, and tasted a faint, salty-sweet taste the next time his tongue flicked uncertainly across the slit. 

Haruka groaned softly, head falling back, the muscles in his jaw working convulsively. 

"Is it okay…?" Makoto asked. 

"It's good." Haruka nodded. "Keep doing that." 

He didn’t think he was very good, but Haruka was gasping and squirming beneath him with an understated sort of enthusiasm, and it was impossible not to feel at least a _bit_ confident at that. The fact that Haruka was probably acting just spurred Makoto on even more. Okay, so it was unlikely he’d ever notice the difference between the acting and a real reaction, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try. 

Taking a breath – probably too deep and too quick if the headrush was anything to go by – he tried to blot out everything except Haruka as he took the head of the other boy's cock between his lips and sucked experimentally. 

"Mmm…!"

He tried to ask, "Feels good?" again because it seemed like a failsafe option, forgetting his mouth was full. Haruka shuddered, fingers digging hard into Makoto's shoulders, so hard it was difficult to tell whether it was 'stop' or 'keep going.' He slowed down in case, only for Haruka to yank sharply on his hair. 

_Keep going, then…_

Everything smelled and tasted of Haruka. Makoto closed his eyes, cheeks hollowed as he sucked harder. Maybe _too_ hard; Haruka cried out, the taut muscles of his thighs trembling where they wedged against Makoto's shoulders. He eased off, licking more than sucking this time, until a thin glistening ribbon of saliva slid its way down along Haruka's shaft. Makoto's head spun as he stroked Haruka again, feeling that moisture smear over satiny skin. 

What did he think he was doing? The amount of times he'd done this before could be counted on one hand with a couple of fingers bent. He was no one to even try to make somebody like Haruka feel good, even as an act. He was— 

"Enough," Haruka murmured, pushing him back lightly as he drew away. Unsure what he was supposed to do now, Makoto stayed where he was, absently dragging the edge of his hand across his lips. Those blue eyes widened, then narrowed, and then Haruka was getting abruptly to his feet. Still watching Makoto, he tilted his head in the direction of the bench. 

“Sit,” Haruka commanded, not sounding quite as steady and assured as he had before, and Makoto was too dazed to think about arguing. 

Gripping the edge of the bench for something to hang onto, he let Haruka nudge his thighs apart, the swimsuit stretched taut across his cock. And it was trying its best to enjoy the proceedings, it really was, especially when Haruka’s palm began rubbing it, alternating between massaging his length and his balls through the silky fabric. It was just difficult to know where to _look_. If he glanced up, he was faced with their audience and the glint of the camera lens. If he looked down…

Haruka made a quiet, pleased sound as Makoto’s cock twitched beneath his ministrations. How it could even get half-hard was beyond him, especially when it felt like at least three quarters of the blood in his body was currently flushing his cheeks…

_So?_ He could hear that soft, impassive voice in his head again. _It’s the whole point, right?_

If Makoto’s cock could have punched him in the face, he had the feeling it would have. It had no problem at all with Haruka’s attention, and didn’t much care who was watching. If only Makoto’s mind would shut the hell up and stop panicking about every little thing, maybe they could _all_ enjoy themselves. 

He was snapped out of his irrational rambling when he felt thin fingers snagging at the waist of his suit. For a second he just stared blankly at Haruka, too bewildered to realize what was being asked of him. He thought he heard Haruka sigh a little wearily when Makoto finally caught on, awkwardly lifting his hips to help the other boy peel down the legskins. 

Naked – or as good as – another panicky thought clawed at him; what if he wasn’t ‘average’ after all? What if he literally didn’t measure up? What if—?

When he dared look, Haruka was just staring at him. After a long moment, he lifted his gaze, dazzling Makoto with those night-sky blue eyes sparking like champagne. 

_W-wait a second, is he actually…?_

The thought -- along with reason, rationale, and several unnecessary bodily functions like breathing -- shot clear out of his head when Haruka’s mouth descended on him, hot and wet and eager. Brows drawn in a grimace of pleasure-with-a-side-of-embarrassment, Makoto bucked helplessly into the touch. Somewhere, he heard someone moan obscenely; he realized with a detached sort of horror that it was _him._

All of a sudden the room felt too claustrophobic, too hot, too bright. “Haruka, wa—Ah!” 

Haruka was far too professional to mess up the scene like Makoto did by actually talking, but he didn’t need to – ‘just pay attention to me’ that intense gaze said, before it lowered. ‘Forget about everything else.’

There was nothing uncertain about the way Haruka's mouth felt on him. Unlike Makoto's fumbling, those lips knew exactly what they were doing, as though Haruka had some unspoken connection with him that betrayed all the places and all the ways Makoto liked to be touched without him having to say a thing. He knew things _Makoto_ didn't, like the fact that the friction from slender fingers at the base of his cock made him shiver, or that the teasing back-and-forth flutter of a tongue-tip around the hyper-sensitive head had his hips trying to snap mindlessly, muscles quivering.

And despite his nerves, it was impossible not to react to the stimulation. There were probably things the script wanted him to say right now, but all Makoto could do was gasp Haruka's name on shaky breaths in between shameful groans. Strangers were watching him do this, even more _would_ be if there was anything salvageable on that camera, and he still couldn't help it. The things Haruka did to him outweighed the rest. He had the feeling Haruka could make him forget the world.

Still stroking him vigorously, fingers sliding easily on the sheen of saliva, Haruka lifted his head and met Makoto's gaze. 

"Ready?"

No. Not in a million years. 

From far away he felt himself nod. "Yeah…"

Haruka’s hard work flagged a little when Makoto noticed that, while he’d been lost in the heat of the other boy’s mouth, someone had set down a lube dispenser and a few condom packets on the bench next to him. And if someone had been that close without him even noticing, then how close might the camera have come? 

There was no way he could keep his hands steady as he tore the condom wrapper open, and no way he could do anything except sit there frozen, holding the lube in one hand and the condom in the other. Was there some special order of things when you were on camera? The condom was for him and the lube for Haruka… right? 

"Wait." Haruka took both from him with a faintly exasperated sigh. Uncapping the lube with the sort of disinterested dexterity that was beyond Makoto in that moment, he squeezed a tiny amount onto the condom before pressing the tip against Makoto's cock and rolling it down his length with a couple of alarmingly practised flicks of the wrist. "Feels better that way," he said. 

Mesmerized by the play of Haruka's hands on him, Makoto could only manage a choked out, "O-okay…" in response. Haruka eyed him suspiciously. 

“You have done this before, right?”

“Well, uh… not exactly… I mean, _most_ of it, but…”

From the corner of his eye he caught Director Sasabe giving him the thumbs up, obviously thinking Makoto was playing up the role for the camera because clearly no one _that_ hopeless would actually try out for porn. Haruka, however, scarily savvy, knew that it wasn’t for the film’s benefit. There was an equally scary moment where the resigned look on the other boy’s face had Makoto convinced Haruka was going to pull the plug on this whole sorry mess.

And part of him would’ve been desperately relieved by that, but the rest of him…

“Doesn’t matter,” Haruka said eventually. “Just don’t get in my way.”

“Eh? But Haru—”

The bench creaked as his back made thudding contact with it. Not sure what to do with his hands, he rested them nervously on Haruka's thighs, absently stroking the soft skin. Haruka squeezed out another liberal amount of the lube, spreading it between his fingers before reaching behind him. All that gave him away as he prepared himself was the tiniest twitch of his brows, his teeth scoring his lower lip. Makoto wanted to say that he'd do it, wanted to kiss away that look on Haruka's face, but he'd clearly been deemed incapable of doing this properly by himself. 

From the way he gasped when Haruka finished with himself and slicked Makoto's cock with a couple of cursory strokes, he thought that was probably just as well. 

"Haruka," he said, barely trusting his voice but suddenly desperate for those dazzling eyes on him even as slim fingers held him still, brushing along the underside of his cock to press it into slick, tight heat. 

For a second, the inside of Makoto’s head went pure white. He himself arch off the bench, and every muscle from the base of his spine right down the back his thighs tensing as though a million volt current had been shocked through them. He could hear himself panting – “Haruka… Haruka…!” – lungs burning as though he’d just swum a hundred kilometres, and nothing but that intense blue gaze floating in his vision. 

Haruka's moans changed pitch slightly as he sank onto Makoto, inch by slow inch in shallow thrusts until his ass eventually nestled against Makoto’s thighs. Terrified of moving, he could only squeeze his eyes shut, pretending that the shuffling he could hear wasn’t because the camera was focusing in on the point where their bodies joined. 

…he was going to have to delete that folder when he got home. He was never going to be able to look at those videos in the same way ever again. It was like knowing how a magic trick worked; once you learned the secret, it never seemed that impressive anymore.

It took several drawn-out moments before Haruka began to move. Hands braced on Makoto’s chest. Venturing to crack open on eye, he squinted up at the determined set of the other boy’s expression. 

“Is it…?” 

“It’s good.” There was a faint hitch to Haruka’s otherwise placid tone. “Just… give me a second.” 

If he’d known what he was explaining for, Makoto would’ve promised he wasn’t going anywhere. His pounding heartbeat alone seemed to weld him to the bench. Haruka was almost painfully tight around him; Makoto swore he was getting harder with every smooth, gripping drag of Haruka’s hole, already hot and wet, and shamefully after-the-fact, Makoto began to realize why Haruka might've been late.

_Was he getting himself ready for this? For me…?_

“Good?” Haruka asked, eyes closed, face slack with something that looked like genuine pleasure. 

Makoto swallowed, breathless. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” 

“Then ask,” Haruka said, turning that gaze on him, full-beam. 

He knew he shouldn’t have, because there was already an overwhelming sort of tension coiling low between his thighs, and he thought he remembered director Sasabe saying… something, about… his pace, and Haruka’s, and… other things Makoto’s mind couldn’t grasp _and_ deal with how it felt inside Haruka. 

“Is… do you feel good, Haruka?” 

Grinding down hard against him, body rippling mercilessly, Haruka nodded. 

“Feels good, Makoto.” The guy from that video clip gazed down at him, hair mussed, eyes bright, pale skin shimmering with sweat. “You feel good.”

And, mortifyingly, that was all it took. 

Makoto barely got in an erratic thrust and a half before his hips were pumping awkwardly between Haruka and the bench, hot come flooding the condom, and his voice going up about three octaves as he tried the impossible task of apologizing, pleading, and having a rather abrupt orgasm all at the same time. 

For a very long moment afterwards, Haruka just stared down at him, almost disbelieving. 

Eventually, quietly, he asked, "Did you just…?"

"I'm sorry…!" It was kind of hard to bow his apology in this position. Trying only made Haruka have to lean back to dodge getting headbutted in the nose. "I-I can keep going, really, I…" 

Haruka shook his head, huffing out a sulky sigh. "Don't push yourself."

"No, I..." Not even sure anymore whether he needed the job, the money, or for Haruka to stay just a little bit longer, Makoto sat up, almost dislodging the other boy from his lap. He shifted his hips slightly, just trying to gauge how soft he might've gotten past the aftershocks of orgasm, when Haruka squeezed him ruthlessly. "H-Haru…!"

Haruka just regarded him contemplatively before glancing to one side, carrying out a silent conversation with the crew. After a moment, one shoulder rose and fell in a shrug, although Makoto had no idea what that gesture meant for his fate. 

He swallowed the whimper as Haruka climbed off, his body giving Makoto a final squeeze before releasing him completely. If he hadn't been too busy wishing he could crawl off somewhere and die, he might have spared a glare for his cock, still half hard now to spite him. Eyes squeezed shut, he clamped a hand over them too for good measure. 

"I-I'm sorry. I know I said I'd work hard and I know I've let you down but I just—"

"Makoto." Haruka's uninflected voice came from somewhere to his side. 

"…yeah?"

"Shut up."

Timidly, Makoto lowered his hand and cracked open his eyes. 

His breath caught as he saw Haruka kneel back on the mat, leaning on his forearms, back bowed and ass raised. Glancing across at Makoto with a look that was as much impatience as it was challenge, he shrugged. "Change first."

_Change? …Oh!_

His hands weren’t much more cooperative with the lube and a new condom the second time. Still, he did it like Haruka had, even if the whole ‘feels better’ thing hadn’t _exactly_ helped much the first time. 

_I should probably wear the whole box…_

Funny though, how the sheer mortification of what he’d just done made the presence of the camera fade into a background nuisance. Having sex in front of strangers was apparently less of a problem than letting everyone down when they’d been nothing but welcoming and encouraging. Well, mostly. It didn’t even matter that Haruka probably had no expectations of him – and even less after the way Makoto had just messed up -- the urge not to disappoint him drowned every other worry out. 

Kneeling behind Haruka, he blinked a little as a trickle of sweat stung his eyes. He could feel another sliding down his back as his shoulders trembled. 

And he’d regretted it earlier, so he leaned down, pressing a kiss to the centre of Haruka’s back before stroking his fingers stutteringly from the other boy’s nape to the top of his ass. 

On anyone else, he thought maybe the way Haruka’s back dipped slightly under his caress might’ve looked submissive. On Haruka, it just looked demanding. 

“Hurry up,” Haruka mumbled as though Makoto had aired that thought aloud, and he couldn’t help chuckling through the nervousness. 

“Okay…”

Hurrying proved a little tougher than he’d expected when he took a steadying breath, feeling himself strain even hard as he positioned himself. Haruka’s hips pushed back, the position opening him up for Makoto’s gaze as well as his cock, and he almost lost it again at the sight of that slightly reddened hole glistening with lube under the lights. 

_I won’t have to worry about money if this kills me, right?_

Something in his head short-circuited when he lined himself up, thinking it was impossible that he’d ever _fit_ into something that looked so small and tight. Not without hurting Haruka, and if something like that happened he’d never forgive himself. 

Not that Haruka had seemed in pain before, exactly, but…

_“Feels good, Makoto.”_

The breath left him on a shudder when the other boy clearly grew impatient with his waffling, and shoved back hard. The head of Makoto’s cock breached that impossibly tiny entrance with a quiet, wet sound, and he realised frantically that it’d been easier when he didn’t have to look. When he didn’t have to _watch_ himself pushing into Haruka’s body as well as feel it. 

He closed his eyes as soon as he was sure he wasn’t going to miss Haruka completely and end up humping his hip instead like an over-enthusiastic puppy. It was _weird_ , that sixth sense of someone else’s presence edging closer to this intimate act; if he didn’t have to see that either, it’d be easier too. Sneaking a breathless glance at Haruka every now and then, just to make sure Makoto was doing things right, would have to be enough. 

Gripping Haruka’s hips, his own fell into a jerky rhythm, sliding in and out in the shallow little thrusts that hot, tight resistance allowed. After a few strokes, the friction eased, and Haruka let him in deeper. It was a terrible idea, but he couldn’t help glancing down when he felt himself buried as deep as he could go; he caught a glimpse of Haruka stretched wide and tight around him before screwing his eyes shut again. The lube made sloppy, spurting sounds with every thrust, trickles of it turning almost whitish and opaque as it dripped down the back of Haruka’s thigh. 

Makoto had no idea whether it looked good on camera, but it looked good to him. 

Sliding his fingers through the glossy fluid, he reached around to stroke Haruka, suddenly feeling horribly guilty when he felt the other boy had softened a little from earlier. 

"Ah!"

He froze when Haruka tensed; maybe he wasn't supposed to do that? Hand hovering ineffectually, Makoto hesitated, until Haruka groaned softly, his body first relaxing enough to swallow him even deeper before clamping tight around him as if to keep him there. 

Cautiously, he did it again. Getting harder once more beneath his fingers, Haruka did the same thing – sucked him in, squeezed him tight. Makoto could barely move, but he didn't have to; Haruka could milk him until he came just like this. Which, really, was marginally less embarrassing than making him come by _looking_ at him, so… 

He was going to do it again when Haruka shook his head. “Too deep.”

“S-sorry…!” Makoto began to pull back inelegantly when Haruka reached for his wrist.

“Not for me. For you. You’ll come too fast again like that.” 

Head bowed by the too accurate reproach, Makoto stilled. “What should I do…?”

Haruka mulled over that for a second. “The bench,” he said. “Go and sit on the bench.” 

Makoto did as he was told, even when every staggered step made his achingly hard cock bob and all it wanted was to be back inside Haruka’s warmth. He let Haruka position him to his liking, and held his breath as the other boy knelt over him on the bench, facing away, his back against Makoto’s chest. 

_…maybe I’m too visual and he’s just trying to help?_

Not that added visuals would’ve done much to exacerbate the heat and friction that engulfed him again as Haruka sank onto him. Nothing would've cancelled out how familiar it felt, how Haruka's body seemed to mold itself around Makoto's cock. 

He still didn't have much to do; he could feel the graceful muscles of Haruka's thighs bunching as he lifted himself off Makoto, and releasing as he lowered himself down. Every now and then he'd tilt his hips, changing the angle and changing the tone of his moans. Makoto just held himself still and let him. 

He knew the camera was watching them, trained on the 'v' of their bodies and the way Haruka slid up and down on Makoto's cock, the lube making a suggestive mess of both of them. 

It didn't matter. Haruka was between Makoto and all of it. Haruka was shielding him from anything that might frighten him, so all he had to do was hold on and feel. 

"Haru…"

Wrapping his arms around Haruka's waist to hug him close meant that the other boy had to slow down a little, but Makoto was okay with that. Especially okay when Haruka twisted back, catching Makoto's tongue in another of those open mouthed kisses. 

And he wasn't going to last much longer this time either, but he wouldn't be that awful and selfish twice. 

Sliding one hand under Haruka's thigh to keep him pressed tightly against himself, Makoto began stroking him again, gently swatting away Haruka's own hands. 

"Let me…" He kissed the side of that pale neck, feeling his pulse flutter as Haruka sucked in a breath. "Please."

"You—ah!"

He'd wondered a little what the director meant when he said Haruka went at his own pace. He still didn't know, but right now it felt as though the other boy was tailoring his to match Makoto's. Where he might've been holding back to make the scene last, knowing Makoto really wasn't going to had Haruka staying just a few seconds ahead of him. 

Letting Makoto stroke him, he still pushed back in a too-fast, too-much rhythm, grinding himself on Makoto with every thrust, hips tilting and rolling instead of lifting and lowering. Makoto could feel the way he was rubbing inside Haruka, and the way he was rubbed in turn; his muscles clenched as he instinctively tried to thrust up, control slipping, desperate with the need to just fuck Haruka, deep and hard and fast and—

_Not yet, not yet…!_

He swore Haruka glanced back at him briefly, but the next thing he knew the other boy was trembling on his lap, head bent forward, thighs shaking and jerking as if trying to press together. 

"Coming…" Haruka managed between breaths, clamping a hand over Makoto's to tighten his stroking, thrusting shamelessly into their touch. "Coming… gonna…nnn!"

Makoto felt a wet heat spill over his fingers, but most of it must have spattered onto Haruka; mostly he just felt the way Haruka clamped down, a series of sweetly painful spasms that wouldn't have let him hold back even if he'd had the first clue _how_. 

And he had about zero-point-zero-zero-zero-one seconds to admire the professionalism of Haruka's timing before his own orgasm rocked him for the second time that afternoon. He held on tightly, groaning and whimpering stupid, nonsensical things against Haruka's shoulder as his body shuddered, emptying itself into the sticky heat of the condom. 

Second time in way too short a time to make this job work. 

_Doesn't matter… as long as it was him, it doesn't matter._

Lips pressed to Haruka's shoulder, he mouthed a 'sorry' that wasn't meant for anyone else. Against his arms, Haruka's chest moved in a quiet sigh, and the slight shake of his head made sweatdamp black hair tickle Makoto's ear. 

"It's fine, isn't it?"

_Haru…_

After a good minute or two when all Makoto could feel and hear was the discordant beat of his and Haruka's heartbeats and the ragged pants of their breathing, he heard the rest of the room come to life as though they were coming out from under a spell. 

"Think we'll call that a wrap," he heard Sasabe say. Then, almost as an afterthought: "Good work, guys." 

It was as if someone flipped a switch in Haruka too. Without preamble, he extricated himself from the hug, a small shiver running down his spine as he pulled himself off Makoto's cock. His skin still glistened with the excess lube, but he seemed wholly unperturbed by the way it smeared the back of his thighs and twined down one leg. 

Somebody had left a towel on the bench. All Makoto could bring himself to do with it was drape it over his lap, watching Haruka use his own to casually wipe the streaks of come from his stomach and thighs. He blushed, trying to look away when Haruka turned and caught him looking. 

“What?”

“N-nothing!” Makoto rubbed the back of his neck, feeling like more of an idiot now than he had while they were having sex. He really wasn’t this bad at simple conversation, he really wasn’t… “I was just thinking the way you deal with your work is really admirable.” 

Haruka shrugged. “It’s just work.” 

“Yeah, but…” Laughing a little, Makoto let his loosely linked hands rest between his knees, feeling the frown tug down his brows. “I’m not sure I’m cut out for this at all. No, I’m pretty certain I’m not. But I still wish I could be a little bit more like you, you know? Haru always knew what to do, and what to say…” He lifted his head, painting on a bright smile to mask his embarrassment. “I think that’s pretty amazing.” 

Haruka blinked, staring at him for a second before looking away. “It probably just wasn’t what you expected.”

“No, I…” He hadn’t expected anything, but even if he had, it’d still be _more_. “I’m glad it was you.”

And he really was. Haruka’s unflustered calm anchored him when he was flailing, captivated and distracted him when he was sliding towards blind panic. Haruka made him want to _try_ , and reminded him that he was doing this for a reason in the first place. 

Those blue eyes regarded him coolly for a moment, before Haruka turned away. 

“If you want to do this,” he said, “then you shouldn’t give up after messing up once.” 

_Haru…_

“Hey, Mako-chan!” Director Sasabe waved him over to a makeshift desk, where he and the sound guy were poring over a laptop. “Wanna see how you guys looked?” 

Makoto looked around for Haruka, but the other boy had already moved on from the conversation, dropping the towel back onto the bench and pulling his discarded jammers back on. It was either watching Haruka’s ass in too-tight lycra in real life, or on a screen, and neither was very conducive when it came to Makoto being able to stand up any time soon. 

“Uh… n-no, that’s okay.” 

“You sure? You look good together. No decent money shot though." The director clicked his tongue in disappointment. "Ah, it’s a shame; you guys had really good chemistry. I guess we could always use what we have for a teaser on the website, what d’you think, Rei?”

"It won't be beautiful at all," the sound guy said, adjusting his glasses. "Something like that shouldn't be on Haruka-san's portfolio."

“We can't waste it though. Mako-chan could be popular even if he does jump the gun. Ah, it's good to be young…”

Makoto wasn’t sure whether he flushed harder at ‘Mako-chan’ or ‘jump the gun’. 

Or maybe when the sound guy looked up at him with a brazen and completely oblivious scrutiny and said, “Mako-chan-san would indeed appeal to a significant demographic of our sales. I’ll see what I can do.”

_Mako-chan…san?_

“I’m going to shower,” Haruka said, and Makoto was grateful for his brusque interruption. “Then I’m going home.” 

“Ah, okay. Thanks for your hard work.” 

“Y-yeah…” Makoto wasn’t sure whether it was his place to say anything, but he wanted to. Needed to. “Thank you, Haruka.”

Haruka didn’t even act as though he’d heard, except he paused to loiter at the door. 

“Hey, Goro.”

“Hmm?”

"If this guy does come back, then give me a call." 

“Eh? Really? What about 'I only do one scene with anybody'?”

Haruka’s shoulders rose and fell in a noncommittal shrug as he left to get cleaned up. 

“You were right,” he said. “He’s interesting.”


End file.
